


Officially/Unofficially

by unwindmyself



Series: The Biker Prince and The Dragon Queen [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, bordering on a crack pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes an amiable, cute stranger is the easiest person to tell your secrets to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Officially/Unofficially

Strictly speaking, Dany doesn’t get close to people anymore.  It’s too complicated, and what’s the point if she doesn’t know where she’ll be in a year, two years, what have you.  She does have friends, of course, but they aren’t _close_.

They do keep her social, though, and it’s a little empty but it’s all right.  Some of the kids – a girl from her modern linguistics course and her circle – are the ones responsible for Dany’s presence at this particular party on this particular evening.  It’s mostly loud music and beer in an empty lot that used to belong to the K-Mart before it closed, and she loses track of Missy pretty early in the night, so instead, she’s just nursing a pale ale by the blaring speakers.  She’s always been okay at being one in but not _in_ a crowd, so she’s okay with this.

She mostly ignores it when a whole pack of bikers pulls up: bikers and bikes are practically second nature to her, she’s neither made nervous nor overly excited by their presence.  Most of the men – all men – look too old for this party, anyway.

It’s maybe an hour later when Dany, currently sitting atop a picnic table and playing with her phone, hears a male voice in her ear, pleasant enough of one.  “This seat taken?”

She lifts her head to see that the voice belongs to one of the bikers, one of the younger ones, and because it’s not like she was trying to be alone, it was just the default, she replies, “Go for it.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” he drawls, joining her on the table and swigging his own beer.  She supposes he’s cute when she looks him over, cute in a very certain American biker way.

“Dany,” she retorts, even if he is cute.  “Not darlin’.”

He laughs – though not dismissively, she notes and appreciates – and holds a hand out to shake like an imitation of a gentleman.  “Jackson,” he says.  “Jax.  Yours short for something?”

“Daenerys,” she says.

“That’s pretty,” he comments, and it doesn’t sound like a come-on so much as just an observation.  “Sounds kind of Welsh.”

“I don’t know, maybe,” she shrugs.  It’s not like she’s ever had anyone to ask about it. 

“Well, between that and the accent, I’m guessing you’re not from around here, huh?” he presses.

It was an innocent enough question, and she’d like to think she’s gotten pretty decent at recognizing when someone’s just a douchebag in sheep’s clothing, so even though she rolls her eyes she answers innocently in kind.  “I go to school here,” she says, “But I was born in England.”

Jax nods, leans back on his hands.  “Good story, I bet,” he says dryly.

“Not really,” she replies.  “I lived there, it was a good idea to leave, so I left.  That’s all.”

“And from the way you said that, I’ll be nice and not ask about why,” he says, just barely smug.

“Generous of you,” she replies, smiling with surprising sincerity.  “Your turn, then.  What’s _your_ story?”

He turns at the waist to show he the back of his leather vest, all of the tell-tale patches.  “Officially, we’re a motorcycle club,” he says. 

Dany raises an eyebrow.  “And unofficially?”

“From the way you said _that_ , I think you know,” he observes.  He can usually tell if someone does or doesn’t, even when he doesn’t know why.  “You’re in school, you said?”

“Yeah,” she nods.  “And you?  Were, are?”

“The family’s got a bike shop,” Jax says.  “I was never really a classroom person.”

“Some people aren’t,” she notes, taking care not to speculate about his intelligence - he tried to get into the etymology of her name, he's clearly got some inclination toward something bookish hidden in there somewhere.  “You do the business or the mechanics?”

“Little of both,” he replies.  “What are you studying?”

“Little of everything,” she says sweetly.  “Politics, sociology, business, languages.”  Maybe it’s that she feels surprisingly comfortable talking to this guy, maybe the beer has a little to do with it, but she continues, “Preparing myself for the family business that doesn’t exist any longer.”

“Okay,” he laughs.  “I’m guessing you’re not talking about an investment firm or something.”

“I suppose the British mafia doesn’t register to American gangs,” she sighs, all la-di-dah like a movie heroine.  “My father used to run it, before they killed him.”

His jaw drops.  Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, that wasn’t it.  “Shit,” he breathes.  There's not a better response.

But that, that in all of its simplicity and honesty and lack of pity, is all it takes.  Dany tells him the whole sordid family history, the criminal enterprises, the grandiose delusions of royalty and magical creatures, the murder of her parents and her older brother and his wife and their children, how she and her other brother barely got out, how said brother wants the power back but can’t have it.  She hasn’t told most of it to anyone in years, both because she hasn't wanted to and because she always worries she shouldn't.  And he surprises her by going confessional right back, all of his crimes, his family’s disasters, his dead dad, his dead brother, all of it.

Both have finished their beers by the time they’ve told, and the rest of the party has faded away.

“Are you ever gonna show me your bike?” she asks when he takes a breath, almost coy.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” he smiles.  “Didn’t take you for a biker groupie.”

“I’m not, exactly, but there are still a lot of stories I haven’t told you,” she counters.

“Is this your way of trying to get me out of here?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she giggles.  “If you’re in?”

“Didn’t have to ask twice, Dany.”


End file.
